


meet and greet

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23653864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Going to the game on Sat with Grandma.Owen’s sent.Fingers crossed that you win!“Is that your boy?” Trigger coos.“He’s not my boy,” Joey mutters. And they better not call him that to his face.Fuck, they’re totally going to call him that to his face.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 64
Kudos: 304





	meet and greet

Joey has never dreaded walking into practice more.

Okay, that’s a flat out lie. The most dread, by far, was after Zach outed him with fucking nudes, and Joey doubts anything is ever going to get close to the level of nauseated dread he felt that day — or at least he fucking _hopes_ not — but this is probably second place. A distant second, but still. There is nausea. There is dread. 

“Maybe he won’t say anything,” Scratch says. But like, in a way where they both know Scratch doesn’t believe that even a little, and is just lying to make Joey feel better. Joey would almost prefer the laughing at him.

For two whole minutes it’s fine. That is probably because Willy isn’t actually there when Joey and Scratch walk in.

“What up, bitches,” Willy says as he walks in the door.

He gets a bunch of grunts in return. This is not a morning person room. 

“Met Joey’s boy yesterday,” Willy says, and Joey can see every fucking face perk up. They’re all vultures, but instead of carcasses, they eat up humiliation.

“Still can’t believe Willy met him before I did,” Scratch mumbles sulkily, and Joey would mock him for being jealous about the weirdest things, but he need to focus all his attention on whatever disastrous thing Willy’s about to say.

“Says he’s going to come out next game,” Willy says.

Joey already knew Willy wasn’t going to let it go, but now he’s just involved a bunch of other fuckers who aren’t going to let it go, so that’s —

Joey buries his face in his hands, so he doesn’t know who throws something at him, or what it is. It feels like a ball of stick tape, but he isn’t looking up to see.

“Get it, Money!” Joey hears. He thinks it’s Shithead. 

“I hate all of you so much,” Joey says into his hands. Not that they can hear him.

Scratch makes a hurt noise beside him.

Okay, Scratch can hear him. And Joey hates him least of any of them. Which isn’t to say there isn’t a little bit of hate going on right now. This is Scratch’s fault in the first place, after all. Not that Joey regrets hanging out with Owen, obviously he doesn’t, it’s just that he feels like it’s all about to blow up in his face, and Owen suddenly realizing what a hot mess Joey is and noping the fuck out of his life would hurt a lot more than never having gotten to hang out with him in the first place.

“Tell Willy I hate him,” Joey mumbles.

“Money says he hates you,” Scratch dutifully delivers.

“Fair,” Willy says. “He’s still coming.”

After practice, which is, in a word, excruciating, Joey gets out to find a text from Owen, proving the entire universe is conspiring against him.

_Going to the game on Sat with Grandma._ Owen’s sent. _Fingers crossed that you win!_

“Is that your boy?” Trigger coos.

“He’s not my boy,” Joey mutters. And they better not call him that to his face.

Fuck, they’re totally going to call him that to his face. 

Joey very seriously considers faking an injury for a moment, but then the moment passes, because no way would anyone believe him. Joey’s a bad actor, and also will play through just about anything, so barring a broken fucking leg or something — which is probably hard to fake — he’s playing Saturday.

Maybe they’ll lose?

It’s not that Joey would ever, ever hope to lose. That’s like, his anti-DNA. Losing is the fucking worst. So Saturday night he plays like his life depends on winning, like he does every other game, and even if he hadn’t played like that, well, the rest of them are fire too. The Scouts have been rolling for awhile now, and tonight’s no exception.

He has some — mixed feelings, however, after the whole ‘woo, win!’ wears off and Joey remembers that means the rest of the monsters on his team are going to meet Owen. Best case — Joey cannot think of a best case here, just a lot of worst cases. Owen realizing they’re all monsters and Joey must be one too and ghosting Joey after this. Someone telling Owen how bad Joey has it for him and Owen ghosting him after this. Owen coming face to face with the fact hockey players are fucking losers and ghosting him after this.

Joey can’t believe this is the last time he’s ever going to see Owen.

“You keep talking about him like he’s the nicest dude who ever lived,” Scratch says. “He’s not going to ghost you.”

“Have you met our teammates,” Joey says flatly.

“Yeah, but he’s already met you,” Scratch says. “So obviously he’s cool hanging out with losers.”

“You’re a loser,” Joey says.

“Your mom’s a loser,” Scratch says, then grimaces. “Sorry,” he says immediately. “Your mom is great.”

“Both your moms are losers,” Shithead says.

“Trigger,” Scratch calls.

Trigger perks up.

“Go,” Scratch says.

Shithead does not adequately brace himself in time for 6’6” of savage goalie. Good.

Joey checks his phone before he hits the showers, half hoping for something from Owen, half hoping the opposite. The feeling he gets when he sees Owen’s sent him two is — complicated.

_Where should I meet you?_ Owen has texted, then, _Grandma says hi, and great win!_

_Maggie’s totally welcome to come too!!!!_ , Joey texts back. He can’t believe he hadn’t thought to invite her. Like, on the one hand she’s great, so he should have, but also: she’s a sweet old lady. The guys would behave way better around her than they would otherwise. Is it nice to use the sweet old lady as a human shield? No, but Joey’s apparently willing to do it anyway.

_She says it’s past her bedtime._ Owen responds with a laughing emoji, so Joey’s hopes are dashed just as soon as they’d started to lift. He texts Owen the address of the bar they’re going to hit up and trudges to the shower, interrupted by Shithead grabbing his ankle with a plaintive “Help me.”

“You called my mom a loser,” Joey says, and shakes off his clutching fingers. 

Trigger pauses the torture to give Joey a thumbs up, one Joey glumly returns.

Once Joey’s showered and dressed and his hair is somewhat presentable — usually he doesn’t give a shit, but then, this is a new Joey, a Joey who brushes his hair and wears his fake teeth — Owen’s texted again.

_Sorry, gonna be a bit late, making sure Grandma gets home safe first._ , Owen sends like being a good grandson is something to apologize for. God, when is he going to reveal a flaw? It’s not fair for a human to be as perfect as he is.

Joey’s torn between dragging his feet so he doesn’t have to endure the Scouts poking him about why Owen isn’t there yet, and getting there as fast as he can because he doesn’t know what Owen means by late. Considering the fact he’s always been there before Joey when they meet up, even when Joey’s early, late might mean he’s like, already there. They should have met somewhere neutral then gone to the bar together. Joey regrets not thinking of that. But then, Joey regrets everything.

Owen isn’t at the bar when they get there, settle en masse at tables in the back, Willy doing his charming thing to get a group that’s already at one of them to move to another table by offering them a round on him and his stupid handsome grin. 

Joey settles warily at a far seat, one with a view of the door so he can see when Owen gets there, and after Willy’s gotten a round for the tables and the table they displaced, he sits down beside Joey. Joey can feel his beady little eyes on him. 

“Where’s Owen?” Willy says all accusatory, like Joey’s hiding him.

“Making sure his grandma gets home safe before he comes,” Joey says.

“Aww,” Willy says. “He’s so sweet.”

“I know,” Joey sighs.

“You’ve got it so bad, Money,” Willy says, so it’s good to know that Joey’s just as transparent as he figured he was. Excellent news.

“If you tell him I will literally strangle you to death,” Joey says. “And you know Scratch would help me hide your body.”

Willy rolls his eyes. “Death threats are so immature, Munroe.”

“Not a threat, a promise,” Joey says.

Willy snorts. Joey is insulted that no one’s taking his death promises seriously. 

“Vodka soda, splash of cran,” Willy says, nudging it Joey’s way, and Joey takes it. Doesn’t mean he won’t murder Willy if Willy deserves it, but he’s not going to turn down a free drink.

Owen walks in right when Joey needs a refill, perfect at timing just like he’s perfect at everything else, and Joey doesn’t sprint to the entrance, exactly, but he does take very long strides to get there before anyone else does. Not that any of them would know Owen by sight, except for Willy, but still: damage control starts with staying glued to Owen’s side all night. Which Joey would probably be doing anyway for non-damage control reasons, but it’s extra important now.

“Hey,” Owen says, grinning when he sees Joey, and Joey can’t help grinning back. “Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Joey says. “I’m just warning you in advance that all my teammates are assholes.”

“You’ve already warned me about that,” Owen says.

“It’s definitely worth saying again,” Joey says. “Do you want a drink? Or — want to grab a table, or—”

“Let’s head to the bar?” Owen says, and Joey tags along after him like Bruno, probably with the same adoring puppy eyes and everything.

The bartender’s too busy flirting with two girls to pay them any attention, but it’s not like Joey’s in a hurry to introduce Owen to the guys, so standing around waiting suits him just fine.

“I’m guessing those are the Scouts?” Owen asks, nodding his head toward the tables in the back. Not hard to guess, probably. Over a dozen dudes, all bigger than average and loud as fuck. Definitely hockey players.

“Those are the Scouts,” Joey confirms.

“Which one’s Scratch?” Owen asks.

Joey’s confused. Scratch isn’t a name that’s made it to the media or the fans, unlike Willy’s, so Joey doesn’t know how the hell Owen knows his name. Nickname. Whatever.

“Wait,” Joey says belatedly, suddenly concerned. “Why do you want to know?”

Has Scratch secretly like, copied Owen’s number and done the sexting he was threatening to do? 

“You talk about him all the time,” Owen says.

“I do?” Joey says. He doesn’t remember doing that at all, so he’d argue, but his brain to mouth filter is basically broken around Owen. At least he’s apparently just talking about Scratch and not like, professing his undying adoration? “He’s—”

Nowhere to be seen, actually, which is weird, especially since he was bitching about Willy getting to meet Owen first. 

“—somewhere around here,” Joey shrugs. 

“Okay, which one’s Shithead?” Owen asks.

“Dude in the gold shirt,” Joey says, nodding his head toward the table Shithead’s sitting at. And it is _gold_. Joey’s not talking about an off-yellow shirt, here, it’s literally gold. Where the fuck Shithead found something that garish, Joey cannot begin to know.

Owen’s nose wrinkles, presumably at said awful shirt.

“We steer clear of Shithead,” Joey tells him.

“Deal,” Owen says immediately.

Willy appears from fucking nowhere to drop a heavy hand on Owen’s shoulder, and Owen startles, then goes visibly pink when he sees who it is. Joey’s taking Shithead’s name and giving it to Willy. Tate ‘Shithead’ Williams. Fuck that guy. Joey might strangle him even if he doesn’t squeal to Owen.

“Good to see you, Owen,” Willy says. “Joey hasn’t bought you a drink? What a dick.”

Joey glares at him.

“I just got here,” Owen says.

“What can I get you?” Willy — New Shithead — asks, and then grins at the bartender, and they have drinks within like, seconds. Owen’s only got eyes for Willy as he’s sipping his vodka soda. Joey angrily sips his own vodka soda. Splash of cran again, because Willy knows what he likes. Stupid Willy.

“Come meet the guys!” Willy says, and Owen trails after Willy like, well, Bruno, and Joey drags his feet after them both.

“This is Owen!” Willy says to everyone in the world Joey hates. Joey should probably be thankful he didn’t say, ‘This is Joey’s boy!’, but he’s too full of dread to be grateful for anything right now.

“Owen!” they all respond as one, a fucking cheer, and Owen gives Joey this look like, ‘these are the assholes you warned me about?’ because he doesn’t know they’re cheering Joey’s humiliation.

Joey tries to give all of them his very best warning glare from behind Owen, but the most response he gets is a smirk from Trigger before he says, “Owen! Come sit with me!”

Fuck. Trigger is not only feral, he’s also ruthless. Joey gives it two minutes before he starts telling Owen every single embarrassing story about Joey he knows. And he knows a lot of them, unfortunately.

It takes about ten seconds, actually. At least Joey calling the fire department when Scratch got caught in the slide is more an embarrassing Scratch story than an embarrassing Joey one, but Joey wouldn’t be surprised if Trigger was just warming up, getting himself loose before he really gets in there. Joey keeps frantically trying to figure out which story Trigger is going to come out with next, and can’t even begin to predict, which has made it very obvious that Joey has humiliated himself way too many fucking times in front of his teammates.

Trigger’s made it to the Halloween Joey had maybe a little too much punch — in his defense he didn’t know it was like, lethally alcoholic, but maybe he should have considering it was Shithead in charge of making it — and then nearly drowned in like, a foot of water during the weird Scouts take on bobbing for apples. First off, pucks are way harder to grip than apples, and also they sink instead of bobbing, so it was fucking stupid, and also lacking his front teeth made it more difficult than it already was, and _yes_ , okay, Joey is a little competitive and nearly died because he didn’t want to be beaten by fucking _Shithead_.

Owen’s got this ridiculous grin on his face. Joey would like to think it is a grin of ‘Joey is endearing’ and not ‘Joey is a fucking moron, holy shit’. 

“When was this?” Owen asks.

“Long ago!” Joey says.

Trigger raises an eyebrow at him, all, ‘if you won’t tell him, I will.’

“Last Halloween,” Joey mumbles.

Owen’s snort laugh is kind of unattractive. But like, in an attractive way? Endearing for sure. 

Trigger’s giving Joey a look like he has also caught on to the fact Joey is hopelessly infatuated and now he’s going to go extra hard on embarrassing him, so that’s —

Scratch arrives like a fucking angel, and it’s all Joey can do not to clutch his arm and ask him to defend his honor, or at the very least, call Trigger off. Scratch has strange power over Trigger. 

“Where’ve you been?” Joey asks.

“Talking to people,” Scratch says, like that’s something he even does. Joey knows every single one of Scratch’s friends in town because they’re _their_ friends, and ever girl Scratch has dated since he got here was introduced to him through the team. Scratch makes Joey look like a friend magnet. Exhibit A: Owen. Exhibit B: he cannot actually think of any Exhibit B, but Joey managed Owen all by himself. Like. Through a charity auction. For the team. And only saw him again because Scratch texted Maggie pretending to be him.

Okay, they’re both terrible at it. Point is Scratch doesn’t talk to people. That’s BS.

“Hi,” Owen says. “I’m Owen.”

“Hi,” Scratch says. “Nick.”

“Scratch,” Joey says to Owen.

“Scratch!” Owen says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Joey talks about you all the time.”

Joey crosses his fingers behind his back that Scratch isn’t about to say something like ‘not as much as he talks about you’. He isn’t that cruel, is he?

“Cool,” Scratch says. “I’m gonna go grab a drink.”

“Um,” Joey says to Scratch’s suddenly retreating back, then to Owen, “You want a refill?”

“Sure,” Owen says. “Thanks.”

Joey catches up to Scratch at the bar.

“What was that?” Joey asks.

“What was what,” Scratch says, then, “God, is he not aware he’s paid to bartend and not try to pull all night?”

Scratch has been standing there for all of ten seconds, but the bartender _is_ flirting again, with a completely different girl this time, so fair point.

“The fuck’s up with you?” Joey asks.

“Nothing,” Scratch says, then, “You know, I’m not feeling this. Fuck that guy, I’m going to head out. Enjoy — whatever.”

“The fuck was that?” Joey says, but it’s to himself, because Scratch is already muscling towards the exit. Also to bartender guy, he guesses, because Joey said it loud enough to catch his attention, so at least he gets the vodka sodas without waiting around forever? Who knows what Trigger’s said to Owen in his absence.

Owen’s still there, so at least he hasn’t taken the opportunity to flee Trigger and also Joey’s life.

“Here,” Joey says, giving Owen his drink, and sits down gingerly. Edge of his seat here, literally.

“So what’s this about a fountain?” Owen asks with a grin, and Joey slumps so hard his head hits the table.


End file.
